Everyone's Competition
by ConnorCat
Summary: John has lost yet another girlfriend, thanks to his annoying flat mate. All he wants is some human contact... Which Sherlock helps with. Twoshot/lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Hey guys! So, to help with my writer's block for "Savin' Me", I have produced a oneshot for you. I was inspired to write this from watching "A Scandal in Belgravia". You will probably see why :P I hope you enjoy this; please review. I am considering writing another chapter and then leaving it as a two chapter oneshot. So please review and tell me if you think I should write the second part I have in mind. Oh, and also, chapter 6 of "Savin' Me" is in process!**

**Disclaimer: lolno.**

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><p>"Just tell me what I need to do! Please, Rachel!" John pleaded to his girlfriend.<p>

"I'm sick of competing with Sherlock, John!" She cried in a frustrated manner.

John had invited Rachel over for dinner that night, planning on cooking them both a nice pasta meal to enjoy and then drink wine together on the couch. He had also been somewhat hoping that he might at least get to first or second base with Rachel, considering she seemed to really like him. Since he returned from Afghanistan, John hadn't been close with a woman once and he craved it something fierce. As a matter of fact, he just simply craved human contact. Even a hug would be nice every now and then, but when you live with a near insane and emotionless person, especially if their name is Sherlock Holmes, hugs aren't exactly easy to come by.

Right now, Rachel was particularly angry with John because his blessed flat mate had just texted to say he would be coming home within fifteen minutes and wanted John's help with a case. John knew that he would have no choice but to oblige and so he politely explained the situation to Rachel. Whilst plotting Sherlock's murder…

"I will do anything for you," John said softly. "Give me another chance."

Rachel looked thoughtful. "I want you to call Sherlock right now and tell him he can't come home. Tell him you are on a date and you don't want to be disturbed."

John had to think about this for a moment. He knew that the right thing to do would be to call Sherlock and order him to stay out; he knew he needed to be firm with his flat mate. But something inside John kept telling him that he just couldn't deny Sherlock's wishes. John knew that if he denied Sherlock's request and ordered him to stay out of his own flat, he would pay for it; Sherlock would be even more difficult to live with than usual for possibly weeks.

"Rachel, I can't… He lives here, too, you know," John bowed his head.

With a disgusted sigh, Rachel picked up her coat. "Fine. He obviously makes you happier than I do. Have a good life, John Watson. Don't call me."

And just like that, Rachel Williams was gone. She was now erased completely from John's life, all because of bloody Sherlock bloody Holmes. John was to say the least, absolutely furious with his flatmate. He couldn't work out why it was that every single time he started seeing a girl, Sherlock either interfered to the point that the girl left because Sherlock was irritating, or John would always give up time with the girl to help Sherlock with something. John couldn't believe himself right now. He had truly had enough of giving everything in life up for Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock didn't do anything for him; he couldn't even make John a cup of tea in the mornings for God's sake. John was going to give Sherlock a very stern talking to when he returned, he had decided. His flat mate needed to know that John was angry with him for ruining all of his relationships and wanted it to stop.

Trying to calm down, John went and sat down on the couch and flicked the telly on. It was all a load of crap; crime shows with predictable plots, cheesy sitcoms, rom coms, game shows… John decided to give up and pressed the power off button on the remote. Feeling anxious of when Sherlock was going to get home, he picked up his phone from the coffee table and typed out a text to the detective:

_Hurry up and get home._

John hit send and carelessly threw his phone in the direction of the table, being lucky that it only just landed on it. He ran a hand through his cropped hair and then rubbed it over the front of his face, trying to remain calm so he wouldn't completely bite Sherlock's head off. They were both adults after all, and John thought that they could have a civilised and mature conversation about the problem at hand.

The slam of a door abruptly sounded throughout the flat and John jumped slightly. Footsteps could then be heard coming up the stairs and John prepared himself for the detective to most likely enter the room and immediately expect help with whatever it was he was doing. The door opened very slowly and there stood Sherlock in his usual outfit of a suit and trench coat. He had his coat collar turned up and in an instant John went from calm to absolutely livid. The detective had a small, knowing smirk plastered on his face and his cheekbones seemed even more prominent than usual.

"John, I – "

"Another one, Sherlock!" John exploded. "Yet another woman has left me! And guess what? It's all your bloody fault!"

Sherlock frowned. "I don't understand."

"Every single one of those girls that I dated has said the exact same thing to me: _'Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes._' Did you know that? Every single goddamn one!"

"I don't see how they are competing with me, John,"

John walked over to the detective. "Because I will do anything for you! Every time you want something or need something, I give it to you. I always help you, even if it means giving up something that I was doing. I have left countless dates and cancelled most because of you needing my help."

"I know, and I appreciate it." Sherlock answered, still looking confused.

"No you bloody don't, Sherlock!" John shouted. "You don't appreciate it all! You never do anything for me! You don't even care that I lose these women!"

"They're just a waste of time, John. You could be doing a lot more useful things than dating women."

"Sherlock, since I returned from Afghanistan, I haven't had any form of human contact. I know you're a cold hearted, emotionless machine, but I actually need to be touched and loved and appreciated." John was starting to calm down.

Sherlock cleared his throat a little. "I see,"

"In future, I'd appreciate it if you didn't sabotage my relationships, okay?" John asked, receiving a solemn nod. "I'm going to bed; I will see you in the morning."

John turned and made his way to his bedroom, feeling utterly relieved that he had finally got that all off of his chest. He wasn't entirely sure if Sherlock had actually understood why John was angry or if he would respect his wishes, but he had gotten his point across at least and that was what mattered to him the most.

Upon reaching his bedroom, John kicked his shoes off, removed his jacket and pants and then slipped into bed. He was exhausted after that little rant and knew that it wouldn't be long at all until he fell asleep. He snuggled down into his blankets and sighed peacefully into his pillow. It was a particularly cold night and John shivered ever so slightly, curling into the foetal position to try and gain more warmth. Out of nowhere, John suddenly felt warmer. Lying completely still, he realised that there was someone else in the bed with him; someone who was tall, with skinny arms and curly hair that was tickling the back of his neck.

John tried to remain calm and cleared his throat. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I believe this is called spooning," he answered nonchalantly, curling his arms tighter around John.

"I know what you're doing!" John exclaimed, trying to squirm free. "I want to know why you are doing it."

"You said you wanted to be touched, that you needed human contact,"

"Yes, Sherlock, I did; thank you for noticing. But I meant with a woman,"

Sherlock pulled on John's arms until he rolled him over. "Why only a woman?"

"Because I'm not gay," John answered steadily.

Sherlock closed the spaced between them so their lips were mere millimetres apart. His breath was hot on John's lips and chin and their noses were pressed together. John's heart was hammering in his chest. What was Sherlock doing? Was he going to kiss him? John couldn't kiss his flat mate; he didn't like men! And he was pretty damn sure that Sherlock didn't even like either gender.

"You don't know that," Sherlock murmured. "You've never tried."

"How do you – "

John was silenced with a kiss. Sherlock had firmly pressed his lips to John's in a very chaste manner and to be frank, John was terrified. The detective's lips were soft and plump but extremely chapped, feeling rough against his own. Sherlock didn't make any move to deepen the kiss or even touch John anywhere, just simply laid there with their lips together in a non-lustful way. Kissing a man was well and truly foreign to John and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this.

Sherlock broke away after a few minutes. "Did you like that?"

John didn't know what to say. "I-I'm not sure…"

The detective responded by bringing their lips together again, only this time he had grasped the back of John's head making the kiss more forceful. A small moan escaped John much to his surprise, and he moved his lips against Sherlock's to try and deepen the kiss. His flat mate seemed to welcome this initiation and curled his fingers into John's hair, kissing him quite fervently. After almost a year with no physical or sexual contact, John could not deny that he was thoroughly enjoying this experience with Sherlock. To be close with another human being, to be kissed, to feel another's body pressed tightly against his…

Sherlock pulled away again, a smirk playing at his mouth. "How about that?"

John growled and reached out to tangle his fingers into the detective's wonderful, thick curls, meshing their mouths together. He couldn't believe that he was making out with his flat mate, the man that showed no emotion and barely ever touched anybody. What's more was that he couldn't understand how he was enjoying it, having only been with women since he hit adolescence. Men had never interested John in a sexual way, but he would definitely be lying if he said he didn't think Sherlock was attractive. The detective was physically flawless with his mess of dark ringlets, high cheekbones, full pink lips and cat green eyes. John imagined that Sherlock wasn't particularly well built, though, just lanky. Wanting to find out, he let go of his flat mate's hair and began to claw at the buttons on his shirt. Sherlock let out a pleased moan and pushed his tongue past John's lips. John had missed this feeling the most. Having someone's wet tongue moving over his own, exploring his mouth, nibbling on his lip…

Yet again, Sherlock pulled away, a full smile in place this time. "So did you like _that_?"

"Shut up and get on your back, Sherlock," John said through gritted teeth, annoyed at the detective's smugness.

The detective uttered a small chuckle before slowly rolling onto his back. John very hesitantly climbed on top of Sherlock and sat on his crotch, feeling a very prominent bulge against, surprisingly, his own. He closed his eyes for a moment, a feeling of uncertainty rushing through him. What was he supposed to do now? Sherlock was a man, not a woman. He couldn't reach out and massage his breasts, like he normally would do in a situation like this with a woman. John stared down at his flat mate, taking in his bare torso. It was just as he expected; thin. The detective had broad shoulders and barely developed torso muscles. His abs were almost non-existent, though still able to be seen and his ribs were visible.

"Are you okay, John?" Sherlock murmured.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," he admitted honestly.

Even now, Sherlock rolled his eyes as if it were blatantly obvious. "I may not have breasts, John, but I still have a torso you can run your hands over or kiss."

"You are such a wanker," John huffed. "I haven't done this before, Sherlock. Until tonight, I was certain I didn't even like men. So stop being a twat, or I will kick you out and leave you with blue balls."

He saw Sherlock smirk in the darkness and very slowly leant down to kiss him, still feeling nervous. As the detective raked his fingers through his hair, John inched his hand down to Sherlock's chest and lightly ran his fingertips over the miniscule amount of muscles it had. A shiver ran through him as he felt the warmth of Sherlock's skin on his own and with a surge of courage, he flattened his palms down onto the detective's torso and rubbed his hands all over it. Sherlock let out a small squeak, thrusting his hips up to grind their crotch's together. John felt his mouth fall from his flat mate's and took the opportunity to sit back up and remove his shirt. He felt a little self-conscious, as he hadn't really done any exercise to keep in shape since he returned from Afghanistan, and brought his arms around himself.

"It's okay, John," Sherlock said softly. "Move your arms."

"I'm not as muscular as I used to be…"

"You're perfect,"

John felt his breath catch in his throat, a feeling of adoration spreading through him. Sherlock was acting almost human for once; it was nice. So John let his arms fall down to his sides and stared down at his flat mate who was slowly lifting a hand to reach out and touch him. He closed his eyes and sighed as he felt Sherlock's long, slender fingers tracing the shapes of his abdomen muscles and then his palms rubbing along the planes of his chest. John's flatmate's hands were getting lower and lower, until abruptly they had reached the waistband of his boxer briefs. He sucked in a breath, his stomach coiling with anxiety.

"Sherlock, I'm not sure about this…" He whispered.

The detective moved his hands away immediately. "What would you like to do?"

"Could we maybe just… Kiss a little more?"

"Of course we can, John,"

"And uh, could you lead…?"

The detective smiled up at John and sat up against him, sliding his shirt off of his arms and tossing it on the floor. He cupped John's face in his hands and brought their lips together passionately, pressing their bare chests together. How did Sherlock get so damn good at this? John was sure that he didn't actually like anything or anyone; that he was asexual. But the way he was holding onto John's hair so tightly and kissing him so fervently apparently proved him wrong.

Abruptly, the detective positioned John onto his back and leant down to once again close the space between them. He was moaning softly into John's mouth and had an incredible erection that John could feel pressing into his stomach. Very tentatively, John slid his hands down Sherlock's back, his fingertips tracing the small bumps of his spine. He reached the top of his flat mate's pants, hesitating for a moment before slipping his hands underneath and gently caressing Sherlock's arse. The detective jerked with a very sexual moan and ground his erection hard into John's abdomen.

"Ugh, Sherlock…" John groaned audibly. "I need… I need… Please…"

Sherlock stopped kissing him completely for a moment. "Tell me, John. Tell me what you need and I will give it to you."

"I need to cum… Make me cum, Sherlock."

A low, rumbling growl escaped the detective's lips and he sat up to straddle John. Sherlock looked deeply aroused; his curls were even more askew than usual, his erection was jutting into his pants prominently, those cat eyes were burning with lust and John also noticed that he had extremely hard nipples. John was feeling rather turned on himself, having not been sexual with someone in almost a year now. His flatmate was so good at this, and even though John was sure he didn't like men, being with Sherlock was different. Sherlock was his best friend, and he loved him.

John felt nervous yet again as he watched Sherlock slip his fingertips underneath the band of his underwear. He gave his flat mate a slow nod, and then watched as Sherlock pulled his briefs down his legs to his knees. Feeling rather exposed, John blushed deeply and covered his face. He had never let another man see him naked before; not even when he was in the army. Even though Sherlock was his best friend, he still felt very embarrassed and self-conscious about what the detective thought of him.

"Don't be embarrassed, John," Sherlock said reassuringly. "You are beautiful."

Taking in a deep breath, John removed the arm shielding his face and watched the detective gently run the tips of his fingers along his length. He felt a shudder ripple through him; nobody had touched him there in so long and he had missed this feeling. His flatmate curled his slender fingers around him and jerked upward, causing John to utter a small cry of pleasure. It had been too long since John had felt this aroused and felt the sensation of somebody rubbing his shaft. Sherlock was clumsy with his ministrations and John suddenly began to wonder if the detective had actually done this before. John's flatmate was frowning determinedly and seemed to be experimenting with different pressures and speeds.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John uttered quietly.

The detective stopped moving for a moment. "I've only done this to myself, that's all. Am I doing a bad job?"

"No, not at all," John smiled reassuringly. "You just seemed a little nervous."

Upon hearing that, the detective grasped John confidently and manoeuvred his hand in a pump action method. The friction made John arch his back with a deep groan, taking in handfuls of the bed sheet. John didn't think he had been given a hand job this enjoyable in a very long time. His flat mate had a firm grip on him and was rubbing quite aggressively. Abruptly, John felt a tongue swipe over the tip of his cock and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"Sherlock!" He cried out.

John felt the detective's lips smile against his member and then form an o shape to slide down the length. Sherlock kept moving down until he reached the base of John's cock, gagging as it hit the back of his throat. As he slowly slid back to the top, swirling his tongue on the crown, John could feel his climax nearing. Sherlock's mouth was so hot and tight around him and his tongue was doing magical things that John didn't even know were possible. He heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone, a zip and then a sharp exhale. Opening his eyes, John had to moan as he saw his flat mate harshly rubbing at himself whilst still giving him a blowjob.

"Oh, fuck, Sherlock…"

The detective moaned back, his lips vibrating around John's shaft. With one more harsh suck from his flat mate, John arched his back high off of the bed and let out quite possibly the loudest moan he had ever made. His vision was completely blurred with stars and he could have sworn that he tore a hole in his bed sheet. John felt himself spilling into Sherlock's mouth and started to spasm violently, his body becoming dominated by pleasure. He heard the detective starting to make small mewling sounds just as his shakes were subsiding and opened his eyes to watch Sherlock stroke his cock. His flat mate still had his lips around John's now flaccid shaft but was no longer moving his mouth. Sherlock's breathing increased suddenly and with a grunt he came all over John's bed.

Inhaling deeply and then exhaling, John slowly propped himself up onto his elbows to stare at his flat mate who still looked rather exhausted. Sherlock was half-heartedly mopping up his mess with a handkerchief, his chest still heaving. Sitting up properly, John reached out and grasped Sherlock's chin, pulling him into a chaste kiss. He felt the detective smile and then run a finger over his cheek that was slightly sticky. John pulled away and rested their heads together, feeling enormously satisfied.

"Thank you, Sherlock," he breathed. "That was incredible. I've missed being touched so badly."

Sherlock let out a raspy chuckle. "So, are you sure you don't like men?"

John rolled his eyes and lay back down, pulling his flat mate with him. He positioned them so his body was curled against the back of Sherlock's and reached around to tangle their fingers together affectionately. This had always been John's favourite part of sexual encounters with his previous partners; falling asleep together in a mass of limbs. He pressed a small kiss into the back of Sherlock's neck and nuzzled his face into his curls.

"You didn't answer my question." The detective murmured.

John sighed. "I don't like men." His flat mate started to move away. "But you're different, Sherlock. You're my best friend. I trust you with my life. As a matter of fact, I think… I love you,"

Sherlock settled back into John's embrace and cleared his throat. "I uh, I think… You see, I sort of… Yes, I definitely feel – "

"Sherlock, shut up," John laughed softly. "I know what you mean; you don't have to say it."

"Thank you…" the detective said. "So, sex next time?"

John closed his eyes and murmured sleepily, "No wonder everyone thinks we're a couple."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Ohey, guise! Sorry I took so long to update the second part of this oneshot D: I'm a bad author. But here it is! Mostly porn, some fluff, a little bit of humour. Also, my plan is to have chapter 6 of "Savin' Me" up by the end of this week. You have permission to kill me if it isn't. So enjoy this chapter and review and such :D I love you all!**

**Disclaimer: nope.**

John stirred slightly in his sleep as he heard someone calling his name and hot breath brushing over his ear. He had been dreaming of Sherlock dragging him along on one of his stupid cases that he'd acquired from a client. It had involved an awful lot of running and ducking down into alleyways. Why did his flatmate always insist on him following him around like a dog? Though, admittedly, he did choose to go a lot of the time…

"John!" A baritone voice hissed whilst a hand shook him.

Suddenly he was fully awake. He snapped his eyes open to see the young detective standing by his bed, holding a handful of what seemed to be John's clothes. Sherlock dropped them by John's face and then turned to head toward the door. With a sigh, John put two and two together and hastily dressed so to not keep his flat mate waiting. He wondered exactly what Sherlock wanted and stood in the middle of the room for a moment, feeling dazed.

"Are you coming or not?" The detective asked from the doorway, sounding impatient.

"Not just isn't an option with you. So tell me what we're doing."

Sherlock didn't answer and left the room, leaving John with no option but to follow suit. As they stepped out of 221B onto Baker Street, almost instantly John was drenched. He hadn't noticed the rain when he was in the flat and suddenly cursed Sherlock. It was pouring down and John got the feeling that he would be running around in it momentarily. His flat mate must have read his mind because in a flash, John's jacket was being pulled on and he was jogging down the street toward an alleyway. A moment of déjà vu passed through him, instantly reminded of his dream.

"Sherlock, where are we going?"

The detective continued to ignore him like earlier and then turned right. He was still holding onto John's arm and so upon turning so sharply, the force caused him to crash into the brick wall of the alleyway. He cursed and then realised that Sherlock had now stopped running and was slowly padding over to a nearby fire escape. Beginning to feel very frustrated, John followed and ended up climbing the fire escape where he and his flat mate sat together in a comfortable silence for a moment.

Sherlock spoke first. "Client case. Woman suspects her partner is having an affair. That flat across from us is hers. She has organised to go away for a few days, convinced he will take advantage of that time and spend it with his lover. She claims that he invites his lover over when she leaves for her night shifts every Friday. Obviously. We are to sit here and wait for her to arrive and then get evidence."

"R-right…" John cleared his throat. "Um, okay. Good… So, we're basically going to watch live porn. Right."

"There's no need to feel embarrassed, John."

"I'm not embarrassed!"

"Well if you aren't embarrassed, the idea has aroused you. Do you deny it?" Sherlock smirked.

"Yes I bloody do!" John huffed, lying through his teeth. "And why do we have to do this while it's pissing down?"

John had forgotten about the down pour whilst Sherlock had been dragging him down the street until now, actually. He was soaked through to the bone, but the additional rain wasn't even noticeable because of it. He was very cold, though and would make Sherlock pay for this later. Stupid bloody detective interrupting his sleep in and hauling him around in the rain…

"You are annoyed with me," Sherlock stated bluntly.

"_Well done_, Sherlock!" John cried sarcastically. "Would you like a gold sticker?"

"John,"

"How on Earth did you notice that? I wasn't even being obvious!"

"John, please,"

"Was it the fact that I was complaining? Or I'm irritable?"

"John, shut up!" Sherlock hissed. "His lover is here!"

He instantly turned his attention toward the flat's window. Sherlock was right. The man's lover had obviously just arrived as they could clearly be seen with the woman's husband. It was very cliché; kissing near a window where nosy neighbours could easily see. The man's lover had her back turned and so John couldn't make out what she looked like, but noticed her hair was cut rather short. She also had quite a stocky build.

"Wow," John whispered. "The husband clearly likes butch women."

"It's a man, John." Sherlock answered.

His eyes widened. "What? But you can't even… How do you…"

"As always, John, you see but don't observe," the detective sighed. "It's clearly a man. Yes, you noticed the short hair and stocky build, which makes you assume they are a butch woman. But you didn't notice the fact that they are wearing men's pants, have no signs of breasts and dark hair on the back of their neck. Even with a flat chested woman you can still always see a faint outline on her sides."

"Okay, so you're telling me that he's gay?" John was very confused. "But he got married to a woman! I don't understand!"

"You're apparently straight and have engaged in sexual relations with me," Sherlock declared.

John knew he had a point. It had been three weeks since the night Sherlock had crawled into bed with him and they hadn't done anything else since. John was way too nervous and confused to do anything else with the detective and Sherlock hadn't asked him about it or made any passes. They had continued on with their usual routines of running around London for client cases and or sitting in the flat together drinking tea, watching crap telly and eating takeaway.

John turned his attention back to the scandal across from him and Sherlock. The two men (John still couldn't get over that) were now kissing quite passionately and had started to undress each other. The client's husband had turned him and his lover slightly and they were now side on, allowing John to clearly see that it was indeed another man. As the husband started kissing down his lover's chest, John felt an ache producing in his crotch and blushed.

"You are aroused," Sherlock pointed out rather smugly.

"Shut up," John answered gruffly. "What do you expect? We're watching two men get it on!"

"I thought you weren't gay,"

"I'm not!" John exclaimed desperately. "I swear it! I never have been! I don't know where these feelings are coming from!"

"Just relax; there's nothing wrong with it," his flat mate murmured, leaning against him.

Sherlock then gently rested his hand on John's thigh, inching it closer to the tell-tale bulge in his crotch. Alarmed that his flat mate was being so public, John quickly stood up and jumped away from Sherlock. What did he think he was doing? Somebody could easily see them and they were supposed to be working on a case. The detective drove him mad sometimes, truly and utterly. Speaking of the man, Sherlock had now made his way over to John in a single step.

"You've been thinking of that night for weeks," Sherlock stated bluntly. "You've been too nervous to try it again because you are now unsure of your sexuality. You masturbate over it every single night; I know you want this."

"I do not!" John lied, blushing.

"Please, John," the detective scoffed. "You always get up at exactly the same time each night – just after midnight – to go to the toilet. Mrs Hudson has complained that she has been washing an awful lot of your underwear lately. Oh yes, and the big giveaway; I hear you moaning my name."

John was speechless and felt ridiculously embarrassed. Before he could think of a good response, Sherlock's fingers had weaved into his hair and John found himself pinned against the wall. It was raining only lightly now in soft sprinkles, making it somewhat romantic. A slick tongue lapped at his bottom lip and without thinking John allowed the detective entrance, rewarded with a moan. Sherlock's movements were fervent and dominant, almost desperate and full of need. John tried to give as good as he was getting, but his flat mate seemed determined to be in charge. Abruptly, John found his arms held above his head being held against the wall and his wrists held in a firm grip. He whimpered at the loss of power in protest, but then changed his mind when the detective broke away to kiss his neck, nipping and licking at his Adam's apple.

"Sher-Sherlock, ah…" John moaned. "Please, I need to touch you; let me go."

He felt his flatmate loosen his grip and John reached down to cup Sherlock's face, pulling him closer. His fingertips were curling around thick mounds of hair at the back of the detective's head quite tightly and John could hear Sherlock making small sounds of discomfort. He quickly let go and transferred his grip to the collar of his flat mate's trench coat. Sherlock still had John pressed quite hard against the brick wall and abruptly released some of the pressure. John felt the detective tugging at his belt and gasped both sexually and anxiously.

He pulled away. "Sherlock, we can't do this here!"

"Why the hell not?" Sherlock whined.

"We are in a public place! Plus, we are supposed to be on a case!"

"Fuck the case,"

John was taken aback; Sherlock never intentionally cursed. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Fuck the case, John. Didn't you hear me?"

"No, I heard you… You never… Wow,"

"John, if you refuse to engage in sexual relations with me here, can we _please_ go back to the flat?" Sherlock pleaded.

The detective looked desperate. His eyes were wild and full of lust and his grip on John's belt was incredibly constrictive. John could feel Sherlock's erection pressed into his stomach; it was like a solid tent pole. He couldn't deny his own arousal, which had been standing at full attention for a good twenty minutes now and gently pushed his flat mate away. He looked surprised and tried to take a hold of John.

"We can't fuck here, Sherlock," John smirked, surprising himself.

The detective growled and tugged him down the fire escape, suddenly making John extremely nervous. Why did he say _that_ word? Why couldn't he have said anything other than a word that means to have sex? Why? He wasn't even sure he wanted to do that with Sherlock; the idea honestly scared the shit out of him. He had no experience whatsoever in that area and was certain that Sherlock didn't either.

They were jogging out onto the street now, and Sherlock had taken John's hand, pulling him along at a fast pace. They reached the flat in record time and John found himself almost thrown against the living room wall and then his lips being hungrily attacked by Sherlock. Barely able to think, John hastily weaved his fingers into the detective's hair and pulled him closer, biting his lip. Sherlock moaned loudly and sexually and John could feel his hands beginning to undress him. First his jacket was discarded, thrown carelessly across the room, and then his shirt unbuttoned quite swiftly.

John didn't think it was fair that Sherlock was having all the fun and so he quickly applied all of his strength so to turn his flat mate around. The detective let out a muffled yelp that sounded surprised, but didn't protest. John then slid his hands over Sherlock's arse and hoisted him up, discovering that he was actually quite light. His flat mate reciprocated by wrapping his thin legs around John's waist and grinding their crotches together. He moaned into Sherlock's mouth and ran his tongue over his flat mate's gums and teeth.

John broke away, breathless. "Bedroom?"

"Please, John," Sherlock responded with lust filled eyes.

John closed the space between them and re-captured the detective's lips, walking blindly in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. A few times they crashed into a wall, and Sherlock would hold John as close to him as possible to the point that John couldn't breathe properly. By the time they reached the bedroom, John was deeply, deeply aroused. He dropped his flat mate onto his bed and stood before him, slowly removing his shirt. The detective responded by leading forward and placing a trail of open mouthed kisses down John's muscled chest, stopping at the waistband of his jeans.

"Ugh, Sherlock…" John whimpered, tugging his curls.

In a flash, the detective pulled John's jeans and underwear down to his knees and gently ran his fingers over the very prominent erection between John's legs. He moaned softly and then dragged his fingers over Sherlock's scalp as his flat mate ran a tongue over him. Just as he was getting really caught up in pleasure, John realised that he was doing nothing for the detective. Very gently, he pushed Sherlock away with a reassuring smile and lifted him to lay him down on the bed. Nervously, John unbuttoned the detective's shirt and leant down to trace his tongue from Sherlock's neck down to his bellybutton. John's flat mate was moaning helplessly by the time he reached the top of his trousers and he himself was a bundle of nerves.

"I've never done this before," he murmured.

"I don't mind!" Sherlock insisted desperately. "Please, John! I beg you!"

Taking in a deep breath, John undid the button on the detective's pants and slid the zipper down. His flat mate was wearing satin boxers and so his erection was jutting out in a tent-like figure. With a surge of courage, John slid them down Sherlock's legs and watched as his cock sprang free. He closed his eyes, curled his fingers around the base of Sherlock's shaft, and stuck his tongue out slowly, swirling it over the crown. John felt the detective arch his back off the bed slightly and tug on his hair with a small whimper. Smiling, he took the detective in his mouth and gently slid down, trying to take in as much as he could.

"Oh God!" Sherlock cried out. "John!"

John bobbed up and down for a while, trying to move in the ways women had done for him. His flat mate was moaning quite loudly and so he figured he was doing a good job. He gave one more suck and then let the detective fall from his mouth, watching as he sat up on his elbows, looking wildly turned on. John kicked his pants and briefs off completely and then worked on Sherlock's, throwing them over his shoulder in a pile on the floor.

John cleared his throat nervously. "Sherlock… I want to… You know… But I've never… What do I do?"

"Well, I imagine you don't want me to penetrate you, so would you like to penetrate me?" Sherlock seemed completely fine with this.

"Don't use that word!" John said embarrassed. "I don't think I am ready to be completely in control… What if… What if you were on top? Like, straddling me?"

"If that's what you would like,"

"Do you know what to do? I'm clueless, sorry…"

For the first time ever, the detective blushed. "I uh… I have some lubricant in my dresser… And I assume you would have condoms?"

John got the picture and quietly got off of Sherlock, heading in the direction of his room. Knots were beginning to form in his stomach from nervousness. He had never had sex with a man before, nor had he ever even thought about it, so he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He hoped that Sherlock being on top like a woman could be would make him feel more comfortable and enjoy it.

Upon retrieving the condoms from his bedside table, John made his way back to Sherlock's room where he found him sitting cross legged on the bed with a tube in his hand. John began to feel nervous again and stood there awkwardly for a moment, watching his flat mate. Remembering to breathe, he climbed onto the bed, barely conscious of the rubber in his hand and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. He could feel himself shaking with anxiety, but then instantly relaxed when his flat mate took a hold of his free hand and laced their fingers together.

John broke away. "Tell me what to do,"

"Well…" Sherlock was blushing again. "You need to er… Prepare me… Have you er, ever had to use lubricant with a woman before?"

Realisation came over John. "Oh… Yes, I have. Okay, so I have to do that."

"Is that okay?"

John wasn't entirely sure if it was, but he knew he wanted to make love with Sherlock and if that was what he needed to do, so be it. With a stiff nod, he gently laid the detective down and knelt in between his knees, holding the lube. Sherlock bent his knees and widened his legs for him to make it easier and with a nervous breath, John applied the gel to one of his fingers and gingerly slid it into his flat mate. Sherlock was tight around his finger, almost too tight, and he saw the detective screwing his face up in pain. Guilt swept over him and he shifted himself so he was able to place a gentle kiss onto his flat mate's sweaty forehead.

"How much does it hurt?" As a doctor, John was feeling a bit too concerned.

Sherlock exhaled slowly. "Not as much as you think… It's just really tight,"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," the detective shook his head. "I'll be fine once I adjust."

John brought their lips together and slowly began to move his finger. Sherlock squirmed beneath him, worrying John, but he knew it would get better for him. When the detective seemed ready, John spread some more of the lubricant onto his fingers and applied the same method, stretching Sherlock's opening as gently and slowly as he could. His flat mate was moaning now, softly calling his name, and John suddenly felt more than ready to do this with Sherlock.

"Are you ready, Sherlock?" John whispered into his neck.

"I think so,"

John sat up momentarily to roll the condom onto his shaft and then coat it with the lube, watching as Sherlock moved his position so he was able to climb on top of him. He laid down and the detective straddled him. Sherlock didn't make any moves to start the love making, just leant down to kiss John fervently, nipping his lower lip. John tangled his fingers in his flat mate's hair and jerked his hips up.

"Ready?" Sherlock murmured.

"Oh God, Sherlock, I need to fuck you now," John whimpered.

His flat mate raised himself up and took a hold of John's cock, positioning himself over it. John watched as Sherlock very slowly lowered his body down and suddenly he was inside of the detective. He had to moan. The feeling of being inside someone again was absolutely incredible. John had missed the tightness around his member and how the constriction always made his climax instantly grow near.

Sherlock had started to move now, and any pain that he had been in before had apparently subsided, for he was moaning ridiculously loud. John couldn't deny that it felt amazing for him, too. In fact, he was sure it felt better than being with a woman. The detective was so tight around him and the friction was better than any sex he had ever had in his entire life. He felt a moan slip from his mouth and turned his head into the pillow, beginning to sweat.

"John, I'm…! John!" Sherlock shouted.

John was taken over by white noise. "Sherlockkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk."

He felt himself hit a spot inside Sherlock that he was sure was his prostate and detective whimpered sexually. John was getting close now, as was Sherlock and he thrust his hips in time with his flat mate's. Reaching out, he took a loose hold of Sherlock's leaking shaft and rubbed at it, barely able to concentrate. The detective was riding him hard and fast now, causing stars to blur his vision. Abruptly, he heard the faint sound of his name being cried out and then hot liquid spilling onto his abdomen muscles.

"Ah, fuck!" John grunted.

He felt his body start to spasm violently and then his climax took over, dominating his entire body. Sherlock was still moving against John as he orgasmed, but was clearly exhausted and was just sort of rocking with him. John felt himself spill into the condom and gripped the bed sheets tightly, arching his back. His orgasm started to subside and he opened his eyes to see Sherlock resting on his chest. John reached out and ran a hand through the detective's mass of now wet curls.

"You alright, Sherlock?" he breathed.

The detective let out a satisfied hum and crawled off of John to curl up beside him. In a few swift movements, John peeled the condom off and tossed it onto the floor, mentally reminding himself to pick it up later. Now, he gathered Sherlock up into his arms and kissed his cheek fondly, his eyes fluttering in exhaustion.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I definitely feel love for you." He whispered. "Yes, yes I love you. I do, John. I love you."

John had to chuckle. "Alright, calm down; don't overdo it. I love you too, even if you are a bloody nuisance. I have for a very long time, I think, just didn't know what to do about it. But now I do. I will always be here, Sherlock Holmes. You mean everything to me. I was so alone, and I owe you so much."

After a few minutes, he still hadn't received a response and glanced down. The detective had fallen asleep; bloody typical. Smiling with a sigh, John encircled his arms around Sherlock and closed his eyes. Sherlock bloody Holmes…


End file.
